“And then it- it goes inside to your arm?” Pengyi stared at me in shock, his plate of eggs forgotten.

I nodded, stretching back as far as I thought the flimsy plastic chair could handle. “Right through the cast like a needle. I could feel it moving around for a couple seconds.” I shuddered without meaning to. That feeling of…invasion was something I’d probably have nightmares about.

He noticed and reached across the table to clasp my good hand in his. We were eating a late breakfast under the pavilion at a little diner in Central Ward, the busy morning traffic passing by on the sidewalk. The place’s name changed every month or so as successive owners got in and out of the business, but the food always remained the same: the sort of cheap, greasy stuff that nonetheless fills you up good.

“Could you try getting it out?” he asked.

“Well, if I hadn’t left my damn saw at the bank I probably would have tried to take the arm off.” I rolled my eyes at myself. Realizing I’d forgotten the glittersaw had been yet more insult on top of injury. “But I didn’t have it, and my boss got me to calm down-“ which was impressive, considering Walker’d been freaking out almost as much as I was, “-and took me to a doc. But by the time we got there, we noticed-“

“Arm is looking better, some.” He glanced down at the offending appendage. I healed fast, unnaturally so, but this was beyond the pale. Despite it hardly having been a day since getting hurt, my left forearm was- well, it actually looked like an arm and not a piece of Sharkie sashimi. It was still pink and aching, tender and mostly immobile, but that beat the hell out of infection or gangrene. The cuts the Winnower made were still visible as angry red lines, spiraling from my fingertips up nearly to the elbow. They were stitched shut, though, with what looked like invisible thread. The Winnower’s string had been hard enough to focus on when it was whipping through the air. Laid against my skin, trying to look at it almost made my eyes water.

“Yeah, it had started doing this. I couldn’t feel it in there anymore-still can’t-but it stitched things up from the inside. Doc didn’t know what to do. I sure don’t.” In fact, after peeling off the cast and trying with no avail to pick at the thread with forceps, Laggard had thrown up his arms and asked why I bothered going to him if I was just going to violate medical science ‘right in his face.’ I hadn’t had an answer.

Pengyi crossed his arms and leaned back himself, green eyes flicking from my arm to my face. “You think you will leave it in there?”

I frowned, thinking. I didn’t like the idea of some piece of tech no one understood attaching itself to me without permission- and that was before you brought in questions like ‘Will I ever be able to get rid of it?’ and ‘Does the string have a mind of its own?’ or ‘Did the Winnower fake her death and now her mind lies dormant in my arm, biding its time until it’s ready to steal my body?’ I didn’t think the last one was true, at least, but I couldn’t help wondering. At the same time, though, it stuck my arm back together and did a faster, better job of it than anyone thought possible. And I’d be lying if the possibility of using it like the Winnower had wasn’t in the back of my mind.

“I guess we’ve got a truce for now,” I finally said. “You have my permission to blow it off if I start trying to choke myself, though.”

He smiled nervously, glancing at the shotgun leaned up against the table. “I will keep eye on it. And, this sound- is word ‘insensitive?’ Yes- it sound insensitive, but I think it looks, um, pretty cool.”

Now I let out a surprised laugh. That wasn’t what I’d expected. “I dunno, maybe. I think it’s trying a little too hard. I look like Meatborg.”

“M-Meatborg?” He burst out laughing, the whispery noise still loud enough to make people turn and look. “What in world is Meatborg?” He could barely finish the sentence. Watching him so amused was enough to make me smile right back.

“Oh, everyone knows about Meatborg around here. So, if you get a bionic put on, an arm or a leg an eye or whatever, they gotta cut the old one off, right?”

“R-right…”

“The clinics are supposed to burn all that, but some of ‘em don’t have incinerators and some of ‘em just don’t care. Some of the old parts probably end up in the arpaste vats- which also isn’t supposed to happen, but pretty much everyone says it does- and some of ‘em just end up lying around, ripe for the taking.” I leaned forward, grinning even wider. “And that’s where Meatborg comes in. He wants to augment himself, sure, but not with cybernetics. He wants nicer human parts. So if he sees an arm or finger or nice pair of lungs he wants, he just goes ahead and stitches them on. And if maybe he finds a pair of eyes or a nice pretty face he likes, but they’re still attached to someone? Well, he sneaks in your window, all drippy with blood, with fingers for toes and hands for ears and eyes all over his tongue, and he takes what he wants without waiting for you to cut it off yourself. That’s Meatborg.”

Pengyi’d gone from laughing to practically crawling on top of his seat, ears flattened back. “T-this is just story. This not true at all.” He sounded more like he was asking than stating.

“Oh, probably not.” I smirked. “But you never know. If you hear some weird, fingery footsteps at night, though-“

“Invera galyie’w! Quit it! Just trying to scare me, now.”

“Fine, fine! It’s just a story kids tell each other.” I looked down at the new stitches, twitched my fingers as far as I was able. “Did you have anything like that when you were, um, growing up?” I sort of petered out near the end, realizing too late that maybe he didn’t like talking about his awful childhood too much.

He noticed, but flashed a crooked smile to say it was alright. “In old clan, parents say if kids are bad, Muran Yul, um, Chilly Woman come to peel off their skin and make jacket of it.”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback. “Wow. That’s something.”

“Is not real. Or, I never meet her, at least.” He quieted, looking my hand where it rested on the table. A pensive look crossed his delicate features. I’d wondered if this was coming. If I was a braver woman I would have brought it up myself. “Can I ask you, Sharkie? I-I not angry. But why don’t you tell me you are doing something so dangerous?”

I shifted diffidently in my seat, but he held up a hand before I said anything. “I not mean, like, you need my permission to do anything. I not mean, you have to tell me whatever you do. Never. And I know you are very dangerous yourself.” He flashed a tiny, worried smile and brushed hair out of his face. “But…do you not trust me?”

Aw, shit. I’d misread this completely. I thought he’d be mad at me for not letting on about the bank mission- but instead, he was worried he’d done something wrong. Even the way he asked was walking on eggshells, like he was terrified of making me angry.

“Oh, Pengyi,” I murmured, squeezing his hand with my good one. “Of course I trust you. It’s…Kings, I feel bad. I didn’t want you to worry about me. And…I didn’t want to you ask to come along. I don’t want you getting hurt ‘cause of the dumbshit stuff I do. It’s only dumb luck you didn’t last time.”

As I spoke his expression went surprised, then softened. “Oh. I do not- I did not think of this, until now. I know you only do it, then, for wanting me to be happy and be safe-“ That was a lot of it, I thought with a pang of guilt, but I’d also just been too scared to tell him- “but, I will probably worry about you no mattering what. You do for me, probably. Is just what happens when you care for someone.”

“Y-yeah.” I squeezed his hand tighter. Broken Standard or not, he’d summed it up better than I ever could. “I’ll try and be more open. No need to go around hiding things for no reason. Sometimes there’ll be stuff I have to keep secret, though.”

His thumb ran slowly across the back of my hand, slender yet calloused. “Still dont’t have to tell me anything. Your life is your life. I just happy to know why you don’t, now. And I always will help you if you want it- but, I am understanding if you say no. Are things I do, sometimes, I be scared for you too if you come.”

“Just be careful,” I mumbled. He was being so understanding it made me nervous. Was he just pretending in order to keep me happy? I squelched the thought. I’d drive myself nuts thinking that way.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“I am as careful as you are careful.” He grinned to take the sting out of the gibe, flashing long canines.

I wanted to grumble at him but couldn’t help smiling back. “Liar. You’d have way more scars.”

“Maybe I am just better.”

“Your eggs are getting cold. Maybe you ought to eat ‘em instead of fucking with me.”

He laughed but did as I asked. When we’d finished the meal I left some chits on the table, kissed Pengyi goodbye and took a walk over to Walker’s office. The weather was good today, not so hot and humid as it had been, so the streets were crowded. There was still a gang war on, but either there was a lull in the fighting or people were just plain sick of being scared. I dodged pickpockets, avoided coupon-wielding streetwalkers out front of the Guild clubs, tiptoed past a spilled salvage trolley and its loudly arguing drivers, and went a block out of my way to avoid Orrech’s and the alley near it. Maybe I was worried that if I went by the restaurant, I’d have my life upended all over again. It was where this whole weird chapter in my life had started, and while I’d gained a lot- money, of course, but also friends and a lover and even, strangely enough, a few hints at who and what I was- I still wasn’t sure how I’d come out in the end. Dead like everyone else, I supposed.

Soon enough I reached Walker’s brownstone and got buzzed in by Dezi. She rushed to greet me almost before I pulled the door open, her brown curls bouncing. She’d heard what happened from Walker, but I hadn’t seen her since before the mission. “Sharkie! Are you still okay? Is your arm still-“

I held it up stiffly. I had feeling, could kind of move it, but it didn’t exactly feel good to try. “Nothing new to report, ma’am. It’s still, in fact, attached.”

“Good, good,” she allowed archly. She took up a ridiculous pose, tilting her head back and watching me over her glasses like a pompous aristocrat. “I daresay you’ve earned yourself a reward. I shall have my people issue you a coupon for twenty-five percent off your next ration purchase.”

“Thank you, my lady.” I bowed so low I almost fell over, and Dezha started giggling.

“Don’t hurt yourself worse, Sharkie! I really am happy you’re okay. And I’m so, so sorry. I helped plan that mission! I should have noticed something, figured out that damn Winnower was going to be there-“

“It’s all good, Dezi. Seriously,” I added when she tried to protest. “No plan survives contact with the enemy, y’know?”

“A good enough plan would allow for contact with the enemy,” she grumbled, shaking her head. “But alright. Really the important thing is that you’re safe. It’s-it’s awful about Wiremu…” She blinked rapidly, trying not to tear up, I thought. She hadn’t even met him. I wondered, not for the first time, if I’d made a mistake bringing such a kind soul into this world- but Kings knew I wasn’t a good arbiter of right and wrong.

“…Yeah. It is. You hear anything more about Bodine?”

Her eyes lit up as she was given the chance to deliver good news. “Oh! Oh, yeah! He’s still out, but I guess his brain waves have changed, in a good way? He’s supposed to wake up sometime soon.”

“Shit. That’s great.” I’d been worried he’d make three funerals I had to hit. This business was easier when it was just me at risk. “I better find Walker, Dezi. Thanks.” I’d have to ask her later about that vision I’d had. If I told anyone about that madness it would probably be her- she knew all about that ancient myth stuff. But right now I had to talk with my boss.

“It’s good to see you, Sharkie. I’m glad you’re alive.” She sounded uncharacteristically serious.

“Um, I am too. See ya,” I answered awkwardly and headed upstairs. I knocked on the open door of Walker’s office as I headed in.

He looked up from his computer, reading glasses perched low on his nose. “Hey there, Sharkie. You holdin’ up?”

I showed him my arm- it was starting to feel like a sideshow attraction. “If anything it’s better since yesterday.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Not that I ain’t glad you’re gettin’ better, but kingsdamn am I sick of how weird this shit’s gettin’. Gang wars I understand. ‘Know thine enemy,’ right? If it was just the Blues I’d know what they want to do and why. But with Admin and all this ancient history shit…it’s like tryin’ to have a fistfight in a blackout.”

I eyed him as I sat down. Wasn’t like him to sound so morose. He was usually very confident- or at least ornery. Now he just seemed tired. He noticed me looking and shook his head again.

“Sorry, hon. Between all that, and the Winnower bitin’ it afore she told us anything, and Willy, I’ve just been sittin’ in here stewin’. Gotta get out of this damn office. Oh, and speakin’ of- I didn’t just mean your passenger. You holdin’ up alright in…” He waved a vaguely pistol-shaped hand at his head.

“Yeah.” I said shortly. “Well enough as I could be.” That was in some ways true. It was odd. If I focused on the loss- that of Willy and Plehve- sure, there was remorse and regret and grief. But if I got distracted or thought about something else, it was like nothing had happened at all. I knew there was something deeply wrong in my head already- I probably wouldn’t have killed so many people so easily if there wasn’t. This was an altogether more insidious manifestation, and in some ways worried me more. What if someone I was really, truly close to died? Pengyi or Dezhda or Kings forbid, my dad? Would I just shrug and forget about it? Hopefully I’d never find out.

Walker seemed to take my answer for the deflection it was, but didn’t press. Instead he reached into a desk drawer and came out with an unlabeled bottle and two glasses. With the hand that wasn’t all splinted up he poured a generous slug of clear liquid into each, and I could smell the fumes from where I sat. I took the glass he pushed over to me, and he raised his own in a toast.

“Absent companions.” I matched him and we both tossed it back. Rather than the pungent amiza he usually took it was straight white lightning, strong enough to run a generator on.

The moonshine burned down my throat and settled in my stomach like a thermite grenade. “K-kings,” I coughed.

“That’s the good stuff,” he said quietly. “Never know it to look at ‘im, but Willy could pour it down like water.”

Somehow I wasn’t surprised. “He had a lot of talents.” I’d never know exactly how many, now.

Walker nodded grimly. “And let’s see what he was worth,” he said with uncharacteristic bitterness. From under the desk he took out the black case we’d stolen. Its locking clasps were open now. He cracked it and spun it around. Inside was…another case, but this one was clear. Inside that was a strange piece of technology, about the size of my fist. The main part of it was an angular sort of crystal made of several different sizes of hexagonal columns. Their surfaces were half-silvered like some kind of trick mirror. Connected to and embedded within the crystal were a few circuitboard-like wafers of fiendish complexity. These were made of a firey-red metallic substance that looked oddly familiar. It took me a second to place it: I’d seen a much bigger slab of it in the tunnels under the Park. A few wires branched off of the boards, one torn and the others ending in plugs. The whole thing had a disconcerting look to it, as if it had grown or sprung up out of whole cloth rather than been assembled. I had no idea what it was but it had to be very, very old.

“This was in the case with it.” He slid me a sheet of expensive wood-pulp paper. The fancy letterhead up top read “N.T. Zemo, Dr.-Ing.-Ges., Appraiser and Consigner,” in cursive, along with an address in R-block. The actual text was mostly a bunch of jargon and referrals to, well, reference sources that I’d never heard of. The meat of it was the last part. In conclusion, it is my reasoned appraisal that the piece is an authentic universal storage-media reader head, as was common during the Sun Age. Its exact provenance and age are impossible to determine due to its widespread use, though it certainly originates from the time of Lastdusk at the very latest. Its value is nigh-incalculable to the discerning collector, especially one with access to contemporary records.

Evidently the Fomorii had taken this thing to an expert to authenticate it, and to try and squeeze more worth out of the deal with the Cromwells. A data reader, though… My eyes shot wide. This thing was exactly what my dad and Northmarch were trying and failing to replicate in their efforts to read that old codex. Between the two of them I was sure they could get it working and maybe actually read the thing. I decided not to mention any of that to Walker, though- I wasn’t going to tell him about my dad’s work without asking Sawada first.

“More old stuff,” I said, setting the paper down. “Are the Cromwells funding a gang war over fucking…I don’t know, ancient knickknacks? Shit to set on a plinth in their foyer?” I wouldn’t put it past Admin, not at all. Our lives quite literally didn’t matter to them, not on an individual level. As long as we kept working and kept our birthrate high enough to replace our dead, they didn’t give half a shit.

Walker snorted. “Maybe. I got to think it’s more serious’n that, though. They wouldn’tve called in someone heavy as the Winnower otherwise. They want to do something with all this old crap, though ’Stride strike me blind if I know what.”

“Beats me, man. Maybe Dezi and Ms. Sanverth and the slicers can look into it.”

“They already are, don’t worry ‘bout that. I might talk to Venya about it too.”

“Mm.” I sat back, thinking. “Did you tell the Montesquieu what we found?”

Walker smiled for the first time since I’d come in. “I told him somethin’. Told ‘im it was that weird fuckin’ arm we took off the Blues earlier. Seems less useful than this thing.”

“Ha! Nice.” I was in favor of fucking the aristocratic creep over on principle alone.

“Yup.” He shut the case and put it away. “He told me to hold onto it for him anyway. Says nobody’ll bother looking for it down here. He’s also, bein’ the kind and generous soul that he his, graciously paying a hazard bonus for all our fine work.”

“Oh, wow,” I drawled. “What an absolute kingsdamn saint.”

“Right?” He cracked up despite everything, and after a moment I did too. “Aw, fuck,” he sighed when the laughs petered out. He gave the bottle of shine a glance, then put it away without pouring another. “That’s all I got for now, Sharkie. Take some time off. Get some R&R in. See your friends. I gotta talk with Boss Moses about this. And go over expenses with Silas.” He said it like it was a foul curse.

“You, uh, you enjoy that, boss.” I made to leave. “Oh! Something I forgot.”

He peered at me over the glasses, which was a sight I thought I’d always have to suppress a laugh at. “What?”

“You know how my armor ran out of fuel?”

“Yeah. What about it? I’m gonna come down on the suppliers like a fuckin’ glass storm, believe you me-“

“Maybe you want to hold off on that for a bit, Walker.”

“How come?”

I shifted uncomfortably, leaning against the doorframe. “Now, I’m not quite sure about this…but it might have something to do with my-“ I waved a hand at myself- “You know.” I had some theories but nothing I could back up with solid evidence.

He fixed me with a speculative look. It was uncomfortable. “Alright. Alright, then, I’ll hold off until you think about it some. You have a good one, Sharkie- and stay out of trouble!”

“Same to you, man.” I got out of there and headed for my dad’s place.